Sunday, June 29, 2014

Jill Phillips wrote a song called “Steel Bars.”
I love it. Look it up.

Sometimes I feel so imprisoned inside my own limitations.
Surrounded by my sin.
My discontent.
Not holy discontent.
Sinful discontent.
The kind that causes you to look around and wish for anything and everything that is not your current reality.

I wish I had her arms.
I wish my husband could mow the lawn.
I wish we could afford to go to that concert.
I wish I didn’t have to work.
I wish I could sleep at night.
wish
wish
wish

At the end of each wish is a tastier, greener-grass, more-fulfilling, easier life.
The problem with all of those wishes, though?
They are lies.
Because if I had her arms, I’d want her arms.
And if my husband could mow the lawn, I’d wish he wouldn’t do something else.
And there are never enough concerts.
If I didn’t work, I’d wish I did.
Sleep is something I wish for when I’m exhausted, but something I wish away when I’m on a productive streak.

I’d rather dream than wish, anyway.
Because at least dreams are something I can work towards.
Dreams are possible.
Dreams are actionable.

We can take our dreams to our God and to our friends and to our husbands and mull them around. They can bend and stretch and sometimes die or become something else, but they’re moldable.

We can do something about dreams.

So today, I take my discontent and all my “why me’s” and my wishes to the cross.
Lay them down.
Trade those burden in.
For dreams.
And goals.
And possibility and grace and favor and ask God to partner with me in making change, instead of begging for a different life than the one He clearly has designed for me.

A couple of years ago, I was producing a TV interview with a presidential candidate and his wife and there was something she said that stopped me in my tracks. She was talking about a very difficult circumstance they had to face in their life and she said that she was able to move forward when she stopped asking God “why,” and started asking Him “what?”

I stopped the timer on my iPhone, which I was using to time the interview. I opened up my notes app and typed that in there.

I still use that lesson. I knew when I couldn’t sleep last night because of my sinful discontent that I was back in the weeds of the “why.”

It took some crying and complaining and kicking and screaming, but now I’m back at the “what?”

Monday, June 16, 2014

I was in high school on a summer mission trip when my life changed forever. In an instant I would forever become paralyzed. So it is weird this time of year when this date, June 16, pops up.

For most anyone it's just another day. For any of us that morning in 1994, we didn't expect what would unfold. But everything stopped a moment when I landed face first on that mat.

I'm forever grateful for the friends who got to work stabilizing me so I'd be safe until medics came. And for friends and family who stayed by my bed. For the church and school who chipped in when we needed help but really just got used to it all with me. For my surrogate family who helped with getting ready in the morning or in bed at night, meals, and errands. For my surprisingly normal life.

I'm grateful for my wonderful wife who's shared the burden and opened up in a way that's given us opportunities to get to know so many new friends in our shoes. Who has helped me work through the most difficult days as we've traded who's strong for the other.

They say it's important to commemorate these landmarks. June 16 will always be a day we remember because it redefined my life in so many ways. On this day I always remember the chorus of loved ones who have been faithful along the way.

Thursday, June 12, 2014

You guys are familiar with #tbt, right?
Throwback Thursday, they call it.

I call it brace-myself-Thursday.
It happens on Instagram and Facebook. People you haven't talked to in 20 years post pictures and tag you and when that little red flag comes up in the top right corner of the Facebook app on your phone, you die just a little, because you don't know... is this good or bad?

Will I momentarily be sending a message begging for an untag? Or will I wish I was still that thin?

I couldn't get a couple of pictures old high school friends posted last week off my mind.
I think when I look at these pictures, I'm barely recognizable.
But, I love them both.

Number one:

Okay, you guys.
Bear with me.
I believe this is 1994.
It appears we are having some sort of Valentine's Day party.
This is the JV and Varsity cheerleaders of Indian River High School, sitting on the floor of our coach's classroom.

I'm third from the left, in all my Freshman glory. In a vest and what I do believe may be a bodysuit. Unconfirmed that Chrischa, to my left (who I was undoubtedly sitting next to because she was wearing Pumas and was insanely cool and I looked up to her so much) is making that face because of my bodysuit.

A couple hours later, this #tbt picture surfaced:

This appears to be an Alpha banquet, where the new "Alpha Angels" are being initiated. If I remember correctly, this is actually Sophomore year. I'm on the end on the right, standing next to my best friend, Courtney.

Alpha was a community service club at school. We did nice things for people, and visited churches, and wore tinsel on our heads sometimes, and handed out candy at school. We were a club of the pretty, popular girls, with some normal girls sprinkled in there. We were tight.

I've looked back at these pictures several times over the last week, squinting to see the details. Thinking hard to remember that awkward girl with the dark hair.

I'm fascinated.
I think 20 years gets you just far enough away from that girl that it gives you eyes to see her from the outside.
Not from her perspective, but from the perspective of now.
I can't stop squinting.

I had a great high school experience, thanks in part to the girls and the experiences in these two pictures. By the skin of my teeth, I made it into both of these two groups. I would spend those two years feeling like I didn't quite belong, but thankful to be there. Like at any moment I would be publicly outed for not being as cool as everyone else.

But I got in, thank God. I never would have if I hadn't laid it on the line. If I hadn't tried out for cheering, and had to go out there and do my little routine a second time, because the scores were that tight.

If I hadn't sat through those Alpha interviews in the cafeteria, totally stressing out that I was running out of floral things to wear that weren't technically from the right stores, but were close.

I made it in because I was vulnerable enough to try.

A couple of years later, I got to be on the other side. Not saying I was ever the coolest girl in school. I definitely was not. But I ended up being head captain of the cheerleaders and Courtney was Alpha President, and I was her Veep, and like most Veeps, I did nothing.

And by then, it was all argyle and plaid, not florals. And we had plenty of the right clothes and didn't fear being found out.

I miss high school.
But, I don't miss the dark hair days of fear.
I miss the blonde days, when we were on top of the world.

The other thing these two pictures make me realize is how grateful I am that my mom pulled me aside on family vacation in between my Sophomore year and Junior year, and taught me how to rock a box of Clairol Hairpainting. Highlights equal confidence.

Saturday, June 7, 2014

Summer in Hampton Roads is the best, because there is ALWAYS something going on.

This weekend it's Harborfest, in Downtown Norfolk. I've been going to Harborfest since I was a little girl. There's live music, vendors, all these cool ships come in from other places, fireworks, it's fun.

Michael and I went last night to see the band, The Hand and the Heart.

We also saw his cousin, Caitlin, who was passing through town. The weather was perfect, the crowd wasn't huge, and it was fun to be out and about on a Summer night.

After the concert and a couple of beers, we were feeling romantic, so we took a walk along the waterfront, and walked down to the Armed Forces Memorial. The memorial is made up of these iron-cast actual letters from soldiers and sailors at war, to people they love back home. The letters are from the Revolutionary War to the Gulf War. I've read that they're going to add letters from the Iraq war and Afghanistan.

We walked around to the letters that were lit up in the night Summer sky. Michael read a few out loud. I read a couple out loud. It was moving. Yesterday was the 70th anniversary of D-Day, and I couldn't stop thinking about those brave boys, storming the beach that day. They were so young. SO brave.

This letter from the Civil War stuck out to me.

The soldier writes, "Sarah, my love for you is deathless."
At the bottom of the letter, you can see he died a week after he wrote this.
I bet she got this letter after he died.

"My love for you is deathless."

Michael's power wheels are somewhere getting fixed right now. We sent them off a few weeks ago. So, last night I had to push him around Harborfest. It wasn't a big deal. I like to think of it as a bonus workout.

Recently, we've dealt with a couple of health things and last weekend I let my worrying get out of control and I thought about how, one day, he's going to die. Not anytime soon, y'all. Don't freak out. But one day we're all going to die.

You want to know how selfish my love is?
I don't want him to ever die!

I feel bad about that. Because of our faith, we believe that Michael will be completely healed in Heaven. He will be whole. Walking! And yet, my selfish love would rather have him here with me, paralyzed. Suffering. Waking up and facing this every single day.

I think that's kind of mean, and I usually cry if I think about it. I wonder if I'll get to a point one day that my love will grow to wanting Heaven and wholeness for him. I don't know.

For now, I'd rather stand behind him and hug his neck and kiss the top of his head and hug with the sides of our faces as we watch a band by the water on a Summer night.

That soldier wrote his love for his wife was "deathless," and as I pushed my husband around last night, reading those letters, I couldn't get that line out of my head.

Friday, June 6, 2014

I'm sitting at Cafe Moka with a large Sumatra pour over, with an hour to burn before CrossFit.
I worked a 17-hour day yesterday, so I didn't go in today.

What I've learned over the last 12 hours: There is absolutely no replacement for sleeping in the dark. I've worked overnights for several years over my career. I have had awesome $40 memory foam eye masks, thick black curtains, ceiling fans, air purifiers that hum in the background, and two guys who snuggle up to me - one who frequently rubs my back, the other who snores really loudly, and even when you add all that up... you still don't get what it feels like to sleep in the actual dark.

It's amazing.

So, I feel pretty good!

I realized recently that I'm not doing enough of the things in my life that make me happy. Notice I said happy, not joyful.

As long as I have my priorities with God right, I can have joy. Joy is great. But I prefer to be joyful AND happy. I guess I'm just a cheerleader like that.

Michael helped me make a list of the things that make me happy. They are:
1. Alone time
2. Shopping
3. Going to the beach
4. Writing/Reading
5. Traveling

He's helped me to make a conscious effort to make room for those things in my life. It makes such a difference on my happiness scale!

A couple of weeks ago, I went to Nags Head for the weekend and I was completely spoiled by my mom. That was enough to last for a couple of weeks.

This week, I was stressing myself out, so I knew I had to take action.
Tuesday, I spent a little alone time at Starbucks. I caught up on bills. I listened to a podcast.
Then, I found out Michael had a quadriplegic mishap so I came home to a mess. BUT, because I was relaxed and happy, I was able to clean everything up and move on without making a scene. Win!

Wednesday, after work, I went to the beach for a few hours. It was awesome. I found out that you don't have to pay to park at the meters before 10am. Win! I think I've been having a bit of a "what in the world am I doing with my life?" crisis. It's not a quarter-life crisis, because I'm too young for that. It's not a mid-life crisis, because I'm too young for that. I think it's just a burnout crisis. Anyway. The beach helps.

Thursday was the 17-hour day, but it was a good day.

And now here I am at Moka.
This is good.

What I'm learning about myself is that I need margin in my life! I've read this a million times in leadership books, and I know about the sabbath and all that. Duh. I think what I've been doing wrong is I've been powering and pushing through the week and doing all of my rest on the weekend. It seems like budgeting a little bit of margin here and there within the week is what I need.